


Soul-Sucking Sort of Day

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Hey, Pumpkin! Halloween Fics [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Halloween prompt, She's here for his soul, TripleAgent!Rumlow, Witch!Brock, demon!darcy, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Brock Rumlow sold his soul for HYDRA to...something. It's coming to collect, he knows.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Hey, Pumpkin! Halloween Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907872
Comments: 23
Kudos: 302





	Soul-Sucking Sort of Day

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing!
> 
> Anonymous asked: Number 58 on the Meet Ugly prompts would be so great for your ongoing Halloween series! I just can’t decide if Brock should be the demon and Darcy the witch or if it would be more fun the other way around! What do you think? 
> 
> https://veronicabunchwrites.tumblr.com/post/180758255134/100-meet-ugly-writing-prompts-for-your-ugly
> 
> 58\. I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now

* * *

Brock Rumlow reached the hotel room with shaking, scarred fingers. He swiped the card reader once. It beeped and the light remained obstinately red. “Fuck,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. He didn’t want to be spotted. “C’mon, you sonofabitch,” he muttered. On his third swipe, the light turned green and he pushed the door open. He needed to hide, he thought desperately.

He had been so fucking stupid. So stupid. He let himself close his eyes, if just for a moment. 

* * *

_“Do you pledge your loyalty to HYDRA?” the man in front of the group said. Brock mouthed the words along with everyone else, but he couldn’t avoid the knife that descended on his hand, cutting open his palm. When he looked up, Hale smiled at him. It was an eerie smile._

_“It’s only your soul for an extremely long and durable life, Commander,” she said. “It will make you very useful to Pierce.” Her face seemed too knowing. Did she suspect he was feeding information to Phil Coulson, Brock had wondered? He dropped his gaze and watched as his blood dripped into the cauldron. Small, glittering drops of red in the dark, flat surface. Like the ocean at night._

_Suddenly, the cauldron gurgled and smoked a deep violet. “It has worked,” Hale said, with a kind of grandiose old-fashionedness. “They’ve deemed your offering worthy. You are, for all practical purposes, unkillable.” She passed a cloth over his cut hand, wiping away the wound._

_“Who do I owe?” Brock said wryly, trying to sound like himself._

_“We don’t ask that question,” Hale said, “until necessary.” She looked over his shoulder at the others. “Next!”_

* * *

The nightmare woke him again. He never slept well anymore, not since the Triskelion fell. Brock rose and shuffled to the minibar. Alcohol muted the nightmares, but made him vulnerable. To hell with it, he thought, pouring some into the hotel’s glass. He slugged back a splash of bitter amber liquid, grimacing. He’d woken from the dead, still trapped in the collapse, and he’d felt _it_ \--the thing searching for him. Trying to collect his soul. That was who he owed for surviving. He’d heard it in the corridors of the hospital, the odd murmuring of his name in the pipes, a strange rustle. It was coming for him, he’d realized, yanking out his IV. 

He’d fled the hospital and gone on the run. Five long years later, he was still on the run. A wanted fugitive, to everyone but a handful of his old colleagues who knew the truth. A conspicuous man. People pointed and stared. His burned face frightened children. This was no life. It had all been a terrible joke. 

Instead of stopping at one drink as usual, he had two. Three. More. Soon, he was surrounded by tiny, clinking bottles. When he stepped on one, it echoed in the suite. “Shit,” he said, then he started to laugh. He was laughing when he felt the tears on his face. He rubbed his eyes. In the mirror, his scarred face looked old and tired. He was tired. “Fuck it,” he said out loud, pouring out the last bottle. “Come and get me, you sonofabitch,” he said, raising his glass to his reflection. 

He thought he finished the drink before he passed out, dreaming endlessly of Hale’s terrifying rictus smile and the echoing voices.

* * *

_“Hail HYDRA!”_

_“Hail HYDRA!”_

_“Hail HYDRA!”_

_He was trapped again. A never-ending circle of corridors. Hospitals. The secret HYDRA mansions. The crumbling Triskelion itself._

_The chanting never stopped._

* * *

He woke with a start. _It_ was here, Brock realized, the moment his eyes opened. He could feel its energy in the building. His first impulse was to jump up and run again. But he was so tired, he thought. So tired. The strangled sob felt like it came from somewhere other than his body. He lay there, shaking and sobbing.

He was still weeping silently when she spoke.

“Too late,” a female voice said in the dark of his hotel room. Brock sat up again, head pounding. His throat was dry. “You left a mess, Commander.” He couldn’t see it. The sound seemed to be coming from the chair by the window. Something shadowy, barely illuminated by the parking lot light leaking through the glass panes.

“I’m messy,” he said wryly. “I’d apologize, but--” Could it see his hands shaking, he wondered? Had she heard him cry?

“Men tend to be messier,” she said, sounding amused. “Why don’t you turn on the light?” He reached for the lamp chain slowly, heart thudding, and pulled it. The click of the light seemed loud in the room. He turned his head, terrified. She smiled at him. “Cat got your tongue?” she said. She was wearing a red scarf. 

“I didn’t--Darcy Lewis?” he said. She was unnaturally still, her dark hair arranged in shiny waves.

“Have we met before?” she said. Her eyes seemed to gleam behind the glasses. Too blue, he thought, too blue to be real. 

“No, I read your--your file,” he stuttered. “I didn’t know. I thought you’d be Hale.”

“Nope.” She smiled. “Hale’s a cut-rate hack who found one good incantation and then wore it out,” she said. “It made my aunt quite angry.”

“Aunt?” he repeated.

“It’s a family business,” she said. “And she didn’t appreciate the kind of people that HYDRA was bringing her. Not her caliber. She’s happy enough to help people willing to make a sacrifice for something important--saving a loved one, an illness, that kind of thing.” She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. “But to want to live for Project Insight? She said you were different. That’s why she’s let you go this long.”

“Oh,” he said. Stupidly. Darcy smiled.

“Did you think that she couldn’t find you?” she asked, smiling. He tried not to shudder in horror. She shook her head. “And now she’s given your soul to me,” she said.

“Given mine?” Brock repeated.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. “She thought I needed a project of my own.” They looked at each other for a moment. He was afraid to breathe. 

“What now?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

“I think...” she said slowly, standing up, “that I’ll have to keep an eye on you. No more disappearances. Get up. I need to meet Jane.” 

“You want me to go with you?” he said, feeling that it must be a trick. She threaded between the broken bottles and then leaned over him. He froze.

“Yes,” she said. She reached down and combed back his hair. He tried not to flinch. “Don’t cry, Brock. You can keep your soul...for now.” Her expression was almost mirthful.

“Are you fucking with me?” he said. 

“Oh, definitely,” Darcy said. 


End file.
